Fate Rewritten
by Lurkch
Summary: After E2, Archer and T'Pol must come to terms with choices they made in one timeline that they now have the opportunity to make again.
1. Sickbay

Timeline: E2 was the last episode I saw, so 's shortly after that.  
  
Disclaimer: They're not mine, but they play better at my house than Bermaga's.  
  
Fate Redirected  
  
What must be shall be; and that which is a necessity to him that struggles, is little more than choice to him that is willing. --Seneca  
  
Part 1  
  
"I'm going to tell you this for the last time: my...'love' life...is not open for discussion. Do. I. Make. My. Self. Clear?"  
  
Archer stared Phlox down, willing him to get the hint, which had actually come out as more of an order...applied with a clue-by-four. He briefly wondered exactly how thick Denobulan skulls were in comparison to human skulls. Strangely enough it didn't cross his mind that Phlox was wondering the same thing about human skulls. Or at least he would have been had he been familiar with the colloquialism...not to mention that the scanner he was holding displayed said measurement.  
  
"Captain, if you continue to bury your..."  
  
"I said no!" Time for Plan B: Archer turned on his heel and stalked out of sickbay. As yet it was the only way he had found of ending a conversation with Phlox when he became fixated on a topic Archer didn't want to discuss. Unfortunately at that moment, the topic happened to be his love life, or more accurately: his lack of said love life. And his chief engineer's proclivity for having a love life with anything in a skirt...or a form-fitting Vulcan uniform apparently.  
  
It was bad enough that it occupied his thoughts at the most inopportune moments ever since they ran into their descendents...ancestors...no, descendents from the future...past Enterprise... his head hurt. That had been the reason for his trip to Sickbay, but he had suddenly decided (somewhere around the time Phlox had pinpointed the reason for his headache to be Lorian...and all that his existence implied) that he'd rather have the headache than the conversation with Phlox. He was already starting to regret his hasty exit from Sickbay as the throbbing in his skull intensified.  
  
He passed several crew members on his way through the corridors but they all gave him a wide berth. It wasn't until the third crewman actually moved to farthest side of the corridor to pass him that he realised that he'd been glaring intensely at anyone and everyone he passed. He took a deep breath and tried to compose a less angry visage as he continued on his way to his quarters. Well, almost believable he thought to himself as he passed another crewman who nodded to him in passing. At least he's not hugging the opposite wall to get past me, Archer thought ruefully.  
  
Upon entering his quarters he flopped down on the bed. It felt like a phaser was burning him between the eyes at regular intervals. He turned onto his side hoping the headache would abate. No such luck, if anything it intensified. He tried laying on his other side, but the result was the same. Sighing, he sat up on the bed. "Porthos, come here boy!" The diminutive dog perked up his ears and jumped on the bed, eager for some attention from his preoccupied master after the scary past few days.  
  
Petting his dog, he tried to sort through the past few days and absorb all the information and its' implications. His mind kept returning to Lorian. He'd resigned himself to not pursuing anything with T'Pol, burying his attraction to her along with every other emotion he'd had to bury in the Expanse. It had just never occurred to him that someone else on the ship would end up with her. If he'd had any idea that she would be open to a relationship with a human under any circumstances, well, he would have done things differently. Will do things differently? How far had Trip and T'Pol's relationship progressed in this timeline? Was there such a thing as fate or predetermination? Or was the future what you made of it?  
  
Even after having travelled through Time a number of times he didn't have the answer to those questions. And he wasn't going to come up with them with this damn headache. He winced as the throbbing in his skull made it difficult to concentrate. A glance at the chronometer on the wall told him what he already suspected: several hours had passed and his headache was still as intense as when he had left Sickbay...time to bite the bullet.  
  
Reluctantly he retraced his earlier route to Sickbay. Maybe Phlox would be preoccupied feeding his creatures and give him the hypospray and spare the lecture. Unlikely. Maybe if one of his creatures "accidentally" got loose? Stop it, he told himself. You're not staging a jail break to distract Phlox.  
  
Entering sickbay he looked around for Phlox but didn't see him. He was about to call out when he became aware of a low murmer of voices behind one of the privacy curtains around one of the biobeds. He made his way towards the voices intending to let his presence be known when he recognized the other voice: T'Pol. He'd had the impression that it was her voice, but had dismissed the notion because the voice he heard had too much emotion in it. As he had gotten closer he realized that it was indeed T'Pol, but she did sound emotional.  
  
He froze in his tracks, considering the paradox and debating on a course of action: make his presence known or...no, he told himself, dismissing the possibility of eavesdropping. He'd already crossed too many ethical lines in the Expanse, he wasn't going to cross any that he didn't need to. Tamping down his curiousity as to what they could be discussing that would cause her to sound so emotional, he called out for his chief medical officer.  
  
Phlox peered out from behind the privacy curtain. "Aaah, Captain. Back so soon?" The Denobulan asked with his trademark grin, cheerfully ignoring Archer's baleful stare. "I'll be with you in just a moment" He promised, ducking back behind the curtain to finish his conversation with T'Pol. After a few minutes, Phlox pulled the privacy curtain back and emerged to deal with his next patient. Archer could see T'Pol slide off the biobed and head past him towards the door, he nodded at her but she barely looked at him and seemed anxious to get out of Sickbay as soon as possible. He watched her go, puzzled by her demeanor and thinking that lately she always seemed anxious to escape his company unless she was on duty.  
  
"I expect to see you back here in 24 hours," Phlox called out after her.  
  
"I have duties to attend to," was her answer.  
  
"T'Pol," Phlox said disapprovingly.  
  
"24 hours," T'Pol repeated, her downcast eyes avoiding Archer's questioning glance as the Sickbay doors closed behind her, leaving Phlox with only one recalcitrant patient instead of two.  
  
"What was that all about?" Archer demanded of Phlox, his headache preventing him from even attempting to be diplomatic.  
  
"Doctor/Patient confidentiality Captain, I shouldn't need to remind you of that" Phlox admonished.  
  
"That doesn't apply if it's affecting her ability to carry out her duties" Archer spit, suprising both of them with his sudden venom, frustration getting the better of him after weeks of little sleep and overwhelming stress. He didn't like being kept in the dark, especially not about one of his senior officers. Especially T'Pol. They'd kept her Pa'Nar from him under the guise of 'Doctor/Patient' confidentiality and he hadn't forgotten about it.  
  
"Have you noticed a problem with T'Pol's work?" Phlox asked casually. Too casually, Archer thought eyeing him suspiciously.  
  
"Everyone's been under stress," he replied lamely, not sure anymore that that was the explanation for T'Pol's recent emotional behaviour.  
  
"Yes, you especially. I assume you've come back for your painkiller?" Phlox said, redirecting the conversation before he said something ill-advised about T'Pol. He was still uncomfortable with her being on duty while she went through Trellium-D withdrawal, but they needed all the crew members on duty that they could get with the 18 that they had lost in the last few days. He still thought that the Captain should be aware of her condition, but he was bound by confidentiality until she demonstrated that she was unfit for duty. Unfortunately, the Captain hadn't given him the opening he was looking for.  
  
"Yes, but just the painkiller, I can do without the psychoanalysis," he said, giving the medical officer a pointed look.  
  
"Very well, but the headache will return unless you deal with the issues causing it," Phlox lectured, as he applied the hypospray to the Captain's neck.  
  
"Yeh, well when I have a minute between trying to save my home planet and keeping the ship from falling apart, I'll give some consideration to my 'love' life," Archer said tiredly, not even bothering to muster any anger for his parting shot as he slipped off of the biobed and out the Sickbay doors.  
  
"Anytime Captain, my door is always open as they say," Phlox called out after him. He saw Archer stop in midstride before thinking better of any retort he was about to make and resume his escape down the corridor as the Sickbay doors slid close.  
  
Phlox went about cleaning up the mess of the last few days and replacing supplies as he muttered about the stubborness of Humans and Vulcans and the repressed emotions of both species.  
  
/to be continued 


	2. Meditation

Meditation is that exercise of the mind by which it recalls a known truth, as some kind of creatures do their food, to be ruminated upon till all the valuable parts be extracted. -- George Horne.  
  
Part 2:  
  
Archer headed back to his quarters, the tension easing from his shoulders as Phlox's painkiller took effect, banishing the headache that had been plaguing him for most of the day. His mind replayed the encounter with T'Pol in Sickbay. It was typical of his interaction with her lately, particularly since they had found the Xindi weapon and he had made his ill-advised decision to take care of it himself once and for all. What a perfect plan that was, he told himself sarcastically.  
  
Her plea for him to stay, at least that was how he thought of it, had caught him off guard. It wasn't so much the sentiment (although he had to admit his heart had skipped a beat or two when he heard her say those words to him) as the way the sentiment was expressed that haunted him. She had seemed poised on the edge of losing control at the prospect of him dying. If she had been Human he would have been flattered, but she wasn't Human, she was Vulcan and her barely restrained emotion unnerved him. She'd been close to losing control and his ego wasn't quite big enough to believe that the prospect of his death alone would cause her to act that way. Even he had had a better handle on his emotions and he had been the one going off to die....not to mention being of the supposedly more emotional species of the two.  
  
Ever since the Aquatics had returned him to Enterprise, there had been one crisis after another and he had relegated the encounter to the back of his mind as they tried to put the ship back in working order. A goal that seem to be thwarted by a new obstacle every time he dared to think that they were actually making progress. And yet, amid all of this it was impossible to escape the fact that something was amiss with T'Pol. The shards of the datapad on his Ready Room floor attested to that fact (he'd have to clean that up before he let Porthos in there again, he reminded himself distractedly). He'd never seen her lose her temper before, at least not since their ill-fated expedition to the Seleya.  
  
Is that why she was in Sickbay? Was she sick and they were keeping it from him again? He frowned as he considered this unsettling possibility, stopping as he realised that he had reached his destination. He absentmindedly punched in the access code for his quarters and was puzzled when the code was rejected. It wasn't until he tried again with the same result that he realised why he was unable to access his quarters. For starters, he wasn't standing in front of his quarters, which explained why his access code was summarily rejected by the computer. He looked around and realised that he was standing in front of T'Pol's quarters, and it probably looked like he was trying to break in to anyone passing by. He glanced around guiltily and was relieved that no one had caught him in his foolishness. Well, as long as he was here they might as well have a talk he thought, pressing the door chime this time instead of the access panel.  
  
T'Pol was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by candles casting their flickering light around the cabin. Phlox's scans had shown only minute amounts of Trellium-D left in her system, certainly not enough to explain her continuing struggle to keep her emotions from bubbling to the surface in unexpected and uncontrollable ways. She couldn't fathom being stuck with them, unable to compartmentalize them. Fear squeezed her heart, making it difficult to breathe and causing tears to well up in her eyes. This was unbearable. She took a ragged breath, trying to calm herself and continue the meditation. She had managed to regain a modicum of calm, when the door chimed. She squeezed her eyes closed in frustration, "Come in."  
  
Jonathan Archer entered behind her, pausing to take in the state of her quarters. She was thankful that it wasn't readily apparent that some of the damage was from her ill-controlled temper, and not the incessant attacks on Enterprise.  
  
"I just wanted to make sure that you were alright," he said, surveying the burning candles and pools of wax that had dripped from some of the holders onto the floor. Since she hadn't turned around when he spoke he came over and sat down on the floor facing her on the other side of a flickering meditation candle.  
  
"I am fine," said T'Pol, willing him to go away before it became apparent that she was lying. He sighed, burying his face in his hands before running them through his hair and looking up at her. He looked tired, she thought, the last week had aged him well beyond his chronological age.  
  
"Cut the crap, T'Pol," she looked taken aback at that, he thought. "We both know you're lying," Archer said tiredly, fixing her with a look that dared her to argue with his assessment. "The question," he continued, "is why are you lying."  
  
"We are at a crucial point in our mission," she pointed out. "You should focus on far greater concerns than my well-being," T'Pol said, trying not so deftly to redirect the conversation...and failing miserably. Phlox wasn't the only one who could fixate on a topic if need be. Sigh. He really needed sleep he thought as he tried to think of how to drag information from a reluctant Vulcan.  
  
"You're right, but we have a rare lull for a few hours and this has been bothering me for a while, so humour me, please?" he said, letting a slight grin play across his features. The expression shed years from his age.  
  
"Very well," she acquiesed, trying to decide how much to share with him, without placing undue burden on him or shattering his image of her. After a long silence, T'Pol divulged: "I am having...difficulty...controlling my emotions." When no further information was forthcoming, Archer sighed deeply.  
  
"I. Know. That.," he said quietly, albeit through gritted teeth, "What I'm asking you is why you're having this much difficulty." He glanced up at her from the candle flame, and stopped her from what she was about to say. "Don't tell me it's from lack of rest, we're all short on sleep and Vulcans can go longer than Humans without sleep as you've been so fond of pointing out to us in the past. And don't tell me it's because you haven't had time to meditate, there's more wax on the floor than there is in some of the candle holders, which tells me you've being doing plenty of meditating," he said, challenging her to dispute his observations. She didn't. Nor did she offer any explanation. The silence lasted several moments as they both stared at the flickering candle light between them.  
  
"You are correct, meditation is no longer effective in controlling my emotions," T'Pol said quietly. Archer thought that she looked lost, as though this acknowledgement had stripped her of something important, vital even.  
  
"There are other ways to deal with emotions, T'Pol," he pointed out gently.  
  
"Vulcans use meditation," she insisted.  
  
"Well, maybe you need to adapt," he pointed out, enduring her baleful stare.  
  
"I am...open to suggestions," she allowed. "How do Humans deal with emotions when they find them overpowering?" she asked, her voice quavering slightly as she asked for help from one of the few Humans she trusted with her life.  
  
"Maybe Humans aren't you're best role models," he said grinning, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
"Humour?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Archer groaned inwardly, outwardly throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling while he tried to collect his thoughts.  
  
"Are you suggesting I tell jokes?" T'Pol continued incredulously, wondering if she had made a mistake in asking Jonathan Archer for help.  
  
"No, I'm not suggesting you tell jokes," he said exasperated.  
  
"Then what are you suggesting?" she asked.  
  
"I'm suggesting....that maybe I'm not the best person to give you advice on controlling emotions," he admitted ruefully, remembering the bitter taste of bile when Phlox had answered the question of Lorian's paternity. T'Pol tried to discern the emotion that flickered across Jonathan Archer's face as he spoke, but it wasn't one she had seen often and she had difficulty placing it. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant and she wondered what he was thinking of.  
  
"You do well enough," she said quietly. "Most of the time," she added, after a beat.  
  
"I don't think you want to use my method," he said, "it doesn't work very well," he said, almost whispering the last part. He shifted his position on the floor, wincing as he found a bruise that he'd forgotten about from his encounter with the Xindi. T'Pol looked at him with concern.  
  
"You're in pain," she said, stating the obvious as if it had just occurred to her, which in a way it had, so preoccupied had she been with her wayward emotions. He waved her off as he found another position, "It's fine, keeps my mind off of other things," he said with a self-deprecating smile. Ok, she didn't find that funny either. He knew there was a sense of humour in that Vulcan somewhere, he just wasn't very good at finding it tonight.  
  
"Pain?" she asked, somewhat more incredulously than when she had thought he was suggesting she tell jokes.  
  
"What?" he asked, not quite getting what she was asking as the ache in his calf subsided. "Oh, no, I'm not suggesting you hurt yourself...although sometimes physical pain, exertion, can help focus your mind. I don't think the gym's been repaired yet though, it's kind of low on the list of priorities at the moment."  
  
"How do you...cope?" T'Pol asked. He looked at her for a long moment, debating whether he should answer her question honestly or try to make something up. He decided that he didn't have the energy to make something up.  
  
"I don't," he said bluntly.  
  
"What?" she said, sounding startled and, for a moment, quite un-Vulcan-like. He looked up from the spot on the floor he'd been examining and studied her face trying to judge whether this was helping her or not. She looked confused.  
  
"I don't, T'Pol," he repeated more forcefully, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. "And I pay for it each and every night," Archer admitted.  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
No, from the look on her face she probably didn't, he thought. He knew that she avoided dreaming, that was the point of her nightly meditation. He remembered when she had experimented with skipping her meditation when the renegade Vulcans had come aboard. Unpleasant, at least that's what he thought her verdict was on dreaming. He hadn't pressed her on the details. Lately he was coming around to her point of view on that topic. Maybe she could understand. He stared at the candle flame between them, wishing he could meditate away all the emotions that haunted him.  
  
"Nightmares, T'Pol" he said, suddenly very tired of anything and everything, and this conversation in particular. "I have nightmares most nights"  
  
"You dream to cope?" she asked quietly, not quite wrapping her mind around what he was saying. He sighed heavily, deciding that this wasn't helping either one of them.  
  
"No," he said, spelling it out for her: "I dream because I don't cope....maybe you're right, maybe that is coping. Whatever it is, I suggest you find another way. It's not very pleasant." With that remark, he pulled himself up off of the floor and stood up...carefully. Just when he thought he'd found all the cuts, bruises, and sprains that Reptilian had inflicted on him, he found another.  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help," he said as he headed for the door, "I hope you find something that works for you." He stopped in his tracks as he reached for the door control, and turned towards her: "You know, you never did tell me why meditation isn't working for you anymore...," hoping she would fill in that blank for him.  
  
"I think it's best if we have that conversation another time, perhaps when the mission is over," she hedged.  
  
"I may not survive our current mission," he teased, resorting to black humour. He was instantly sorry when she looked away and he thought her eyes welled up with tears. He reached out to touch her arm, and was surprised that she didn't move away.  
  
"I didn't mean to upset you," he said awkwardly. He waited a moment for her to say something, but she still wasn't looking at him. "Well, I guess I should go try to get a few hours sleep....so should you," he added, dropping his arm to his side and punching the door control.  
  
"Perhaps you should try meditation," she finally said as he stepped out into the hallway.  
  
"Maybe I should," he allowed, and headed for his quarters.  
  
/to be continued 


	3. Dreams

From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed. –Wordsworth  
  
Part 3:  
  
T'Pol leaned against the wall as the door to her quarters closed. She tilted her head towards the ceiling trying to contain the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. It had been such a casual comment: "I might not survive this mission," but her reaction to those words had been anything but casual. It had been as if the atmosphere had been sucked from her quarters as she had struggled to breathe. It was a visceral reaction to the thought of death. So much death and pain, and likely more to come.  
  
Guilt threatened to suffocate her at the thought of the 18 crew members who had died when the Reptilians had attacked Enterprise. While she had been in command. Unable to carry out her duties, paralysed by emotions that she had deliberately unleashed with Trellium-D. Crew with friends and family that had vanished from the Universe because of her actions. Her inaction. Friends and family who now felt grief like this, like she had felt when she thought Jonathan Archer's death was imminent and at the thought that it still might be.  
  
She took a deep breath. It is illogical to grieve for events that have not yet taken place she reminded herself. She attempted to return to what she had been doing when Archer had come by her quarters: meditating, or more accurately, attempting to clear her mind to the point that she could begin meditating. The candles flickered in the darkened cabin as she seated herself in front of them once more, however after several minutes it became apparent her mind was still filled with distracting thoughts.  
  
The conversation with Archer had been unsettling. She had not fully appreciated the depth of his torment over the events in the Expanse. It disturbed her greatly that she had contributed to his pain by not keeping his crew safe while he was gone. He had trusted her, the crew had trusted her, and she had betrayed that trust. Phlox was the only one who knew how badly she had betrayed them all, but she thought it unlikely that that would remain the case. She could not fathom Archer's reaction, but did not delude herself into thinking that it would be pleasant.  
  
The new knowledge that he suffered nightmares added to the heavy weight of responsability that she felt. Undoubtedly those 18 crewmembers visited him in those nightmares. She had experienced few dreams, and she did not find them calming, but she had no idea what constituted a nightmare. However, the Captain seemed to have better control over his emotions than she did as of late, and she decided that his suggestion that she investigate other methods for containing her emotions had merit. Her current situation was unique, and therefore might require a unique approach. Having made a decision in that regard eased some of her tension, replacing it with hope that a solution to her problem might still be attainable.  
  
The issue of Lorian, however, remained unresolved. She could not fathom a path that would bring her to bond with Trip Tucker, unless it had been logical to produce offspring for the success of the mission. As a Vulcan, her longer lifespan would have been an asset in an offspring. Her apparent choice of mate however, still puzzled her. Her 'experiment' with Trip had been pleasant, but nothing like what was described in human literature and arts. The descriptions that she had read had made it sound like it would have been...more. T'Pol wasn't entirely sure what it was that she had been expecting from the experience, only that her expectations had not been met.  
  
The qualities that she would expect in a mate were not present in Commander Tucker. He had trouble controlling his emotions, he was reckless, selfish, even, at times. She could not understand why she would bond with someone like that. A bond mate needed to be someone that she trusted, who could calm her emotions not inflame them, someone more like...  
  
Perhaps tonight was not the night to resolve this issue, she mused, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were taking. Taking a deep breath, she again tried to clear her mind. This time she was more successful, having begun the resolution of several issues that had been plaguing her. Her breathing slowed and she attained a peaceful state that she was able to maintain for half an hour, then several of the candles extinguished themselves, darkening the room and rousing her from her restful state. Satisfied that she had accomplished enough for one night, she crawled into her bunk intent on getting a few hours rest.  
  
Unfortunately, she had yet to learn that heightened emotions and unresolved issues were rarely a recipe for peaceful slumber. Despite her relatively successful meditation, she soon began to dream...  
  
...she was in her shower, eyes closed as the warm water pounded down on her and washed away her tension. It dawned on her that she wasn't alone, another presence filled the shower stall. Someone large...and male. She could smell his perspiration, the scent of desire wafting off of him as his hands explored her body and awakened the feelings she had sought to explore with Trellium-D. Gentle hands caressed her shoulders and trailed down her back. Desire flared in her and she turned around to face him, keeping her eyes closed. She'd had this dream before, and she knew that when she opened her eyes she would know who it was. Until she opened her eyes she could preserve the illusion that this person was unknown to her, not yet revealed and demanding to be dealt with.  
  
She tilted her head upward as their lips met and he pulled her closer, molding her body to his. It was intoxicating, this powerful desire, it permeated every nerve ending, every pore. It was all-consuming, almost violent in it's assault on her senses, ripping away the last vestiges of control she had fought so hard to maintain. A part of her mind protested that this wasn't right, this wasn't what she wanted. She'd given into these desires before. Her experiment with Commander Tucker had been a mistake and she didn't want to continue. With all her strength she pushed him away, breaking their embrace and pinning her partner against the shower stall wall.  
  
"T'Pol, what's wrong?" asked a surprised voice. A familiar voice, but one she couldn't, wouldn't place. It wasn't the same as the last dream. It wasn't Trip, it wasn't who she expected to hear, it was....her eyes flew open. "Jonathan!" she gasped, taking in his dripping hair and following the rivulets of water as they travelled over his shoulders, down his chest and...she quickly looked up at his face which was looking at her in that amused way he had when she was being typically Vulcan and he was enjoying it. "You seemed to be having a good time," he whispered running a finger along the tip of her ear. "Why did you push me away?" he asked lightly, trying to hide his confusion with levity and his eyes trying to mask the flicker of hurt that he couldn't quite bury.  
  
"I ...," T'Pol stopped, unable to express the turbulent thoughts swirling through her mind. "What are you doing here?" she asked, still confused that this dream had taken a different turn than the first. "Don't you want me here?" he asked coyly, resting one hand on her shoulder and letting the other one travel lower, along with his gaze. Her breath quickened as he proved to himself, and her, that she did indeed want him there...and there...and a little to the right. "No," she whispered, knowing she didn't sound very convincing. Convincing or not, his exploration stopped.  
  
"Why not?" he asked.  
  
"You don't understand," she whispered, shrugging off his hands and turning away from him to collect her thoughts.  
  
"That's generally why people ask 'Why?' T'Pol, when they don't understand something," he said, anger creeping into his voice. "Like 'Why?' you keep pushing me away, and 'Why?' you keep denying your attraction to me, and 'Why?' you keep turning away from me and 'Why?' you can't look me in the eye anymore," Archer said, sounding angrier with each question and punctuating the last one by grabbing her shoulder.  
  
"Because!" she shouted, mirroring his anger. She whirled towards him, flinging his hand off her shoulder. She was momentarily phased by the fact that Jonathan Archer now stood before her in full uniform, albeit dripping wet under the steady stream of the shower head. Seemingly realising the absurdity himself, he reached behind her and turned off the stream of water. The movement brought him face to face with her, and much too close for her comfort level.  
  
"Tell me, what is going on!" he said through gritted teeth.  
  
"You wouldn't understand," she said, looking everywhere but straight at him, which only served to fuel his anger. He grabbed her chin and forced her head up until she had no choice but to look at him.  
  
"You keep saying that," he seethed, "without ever giving me the chance to understand!" He stared at her, his hand still gripping her chin so that only her eyes could escape his gaze. "LOOK AT ME!" he yelled at her, causing her to recoil at the force of his anger all the while his grip on her jaw unyielding.  
  
Why couldn't she break his grip? Vulcans were stronger than Humans, even Human males. His anger was palpable and she started to feel her own anger well up inside her. His demands were unreasonable, why wouldn't he stop? Couldn't he see that she was trying to spare him any more pain, any more disappointment, any more betrayal than he had already experienced in the Expanse? She found his persistence frustrating, why couldn't he just...Leave. Her. Alone! Her rage boiled up inside her and she shoved him into the wall with such force that not only did it break his grip on her chin, but the shower wall dented where he made contact with it. Impossible, she thought, confused at the breach in the laws of Physics that would allow such a thing. Unnoticed by her, he picked himself off of the shower floor to where he had slid and reached out and grabbed her chin again. "I said 'Look at me,' dammit!" he seethed, apparently no worse for wear, unlike the shower wall.  
  
"Let. GO!" she screamed at him feeling all the irrational rage and fear and desire she'd felt on the Seleya over take her, wiping out all reason in her primal need to get away from him. She tried shoving him away, but was unable to repeat her earlier feat of sending him flying into the wall. She continued to punch and hit him trying to break free from the hold he had on her. She wasn't sure when he let go, but she suddenly realised that she was still pummeling him long after he had acceded to her demands. She stopped suddenly, feeling the fury drain away, and looked up at his face. He was calmly looking down at her, as he had presumably been doing for some time waiting for her to tire herself out.  
  
"You can't hurt me T'Pol," he said calmly, enfolding her shivering body in his arms.  
  
"I'm stronger than you give me credit for," he whispered.  
  
T'Pol woke up to the darkness of her cabin, with the lingering memory of his damp uniform pressed against her skin and her older self's words of advice to her running through her mind. She lay in the darkness pondering the significance of her dream (nightmare?) until her duty shift began.  
  
/to be continued 


End file.
